An Official Rhapsody
by marinoa
Summary: Nothing is ever as good as it first sounds. For example: Arthur Kirkland was promoted and entrusted with an important merger of two companies… But. AU.


_Author's note:_ Talk about procrastination! The first draft for this was typed on my old Nokia in early 2012, with the following description: "A superfluous, cliché-filled piece of drama and UST. Make this clear for readers as early as possible." That's done now. Don't judge me for writing this. (And yes, I still have my old Nokia stored. This fic is not the only secret it still contains.)

 **An Official Rhapsody**

The downhill of Arthur Kirkland began when he had got his long-desired promotion.

Sure, traditionally, getting promoted was a positive thing, and to be precise, in Arthur's case the promotion itself wasn't the problem. The problem lied in his new responsibilities – in one certain new responsibility. Well, again: it wasn't actually that responsibility that had turned Arthur's perfect career visions to go rapidly downhill; it was a certain _thing_ which that particular responsibility had brought along.

"Congratulations, Kirkland!" Arthur's boss, Mr Harris, had thundered with his loud voice. "I chose you to step into the big shoes of your predecessor."

"I'm honoured, Sir."

"Don't be; it was either you or that American. The lad has lots of ideas, but until he learns to distinguish comics from reality his ideas are useless. Anyway," The huge man behind his desk had pointed at Arthur with his cigar, "Here's your first task: you'll be in charge of our merger with that French company. I figured you have the right attitude to deal with them. Here." He had leant over his desk to hand Arthur a piece of paper. "The contact details of the Frenchie in charge of their side. Now go, I rely on you. Good luck."

And basically that was how Arthur Kirkland had met the _thing,_ his actual problem, who was currently sitting opposite to him at a small table in a café, a small smile gracing his lips and a crafty look twinkling in his blue eyes. This _thing_ , this Problem, was a tall man in a smart black suit with his long blond hair tied back, and all dripping of universal confidence he appeared like a man whom anybody would want in his bedroom and who most definitely was aware of it.

"Arthur Kirkland, I presume," the Problem said in a clearly noticeable French accent and lifted his cup of coffee to his lips. "Hm. I have to admit, I expected someone more... experienced to be sent from your company to work on as an important change as this."

Arthur's eyebrow twitched in annoyance (which wasn't anything ignorable due to the impressiveness of his eyebrows), but restrained himself from catching the bait – he was a grown man who was perfectly capable of behaving himself despite the lack of the same ability in his partner. Besides, the French Problem did have a point, however minor; Arthur, in his humble age of twenty-three, did not have any previous experience of company mergers, and now he was leading one himself. Well, all the better; he would show the arrogant bastard how utterly professionally he could handle the things he was entrusted with.

"Mr Bonnefoy," he greeted in his most professional tone. "It's a pleasure to work on this major change with you."

Arthur's counterpart gave the Englishman a long look and then sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. "Please. It's Francis."

"Lovely," Arthur said dryly, placing a folder with documents on the table and opening it at a random page, "Now, Mr Bonnefoy, I believe we should take a look at certain documents we've both brought along. Perhaps we should start with -"

" _Arthur,_ " the Problem, who insisted on calling himself Francis, cut him off. "We have two entire months to deal with this merger. Ido believe we shouldn't rush into things."

Arthur gave the Frenchman an unimpressed look. "Excuse me?"

"What I mean," Bonnefoy leant forward just a bit and, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur's, and closed the opened folder. "is that we have two months to make this merger work, and we have only barely met, say, three minutes ago? I think we can dedicate this day to learning to know each other a bit better and spare the business talk for later."

"Is that so," Arthur said flatly. "Well, what _I_ think is that the sooner we get this thing over and done with, the happier we are. So, how about those documents?"

"This is why I hate the English," Bonnefoy exclaimed, making an exaggerating gesture at Arthur.

"Splendid, now that we've got that established, how about we have a look at the budgets of our companies?"

Shaking his head sadly as if indicating that really, nothing better had even been expected, the Frenchman took his jacket off. "However you wish," he said, and at that very moment proved just _why_ he was being such a big problem.

Because: Bonnefoy moved to sit right next to Arthur to check the papers, but his jacket was not on him any more, it hung from his chair instead, and the crimson shirt that – thank God – Francis was still wearing was slightly unbuttoned from the top, exposing very little, but enough, and yet too little, of a lean chest. And Francis was wearing some very pleasant-smelling cologne, and his elbow was almost touching Arthur's, and – No, Arthur, what the fuck, stop this shit right now! The papers, focus on the papers.

Bonnefoy reached with his right hand to point at something in one of the documents, saying something, but his forearm brushed briefly against the knuckles of Arthur's right hand, and fuck, this wasn't good, this wasn't going to be good, he was screwed.

"Arthur?"

"Huh?"

Bonnefoy gave him an unimpressed look, one with one of his eyebrows elegantly arched. "I though you wanted to get some work done here," he commented dryly.

Shame engulfed Arthur's face with a red wave. "I do. Sorry. I... You were saying?"

With an overly dramatic sigh of exasperation, Bonnefoy returned to his previous topic, talking about numbers and letters and dates, and Arthur listened, listened to his voice, imagined that same voice lowly murmur in his ear, breath his name -

It was a long meeting, and had it been meant to be their only one, Arthur might have walked out of it all yet a winner. But alas, that meeting was only the first, and the two endless months ahead had plenty more in stock.

xXx

Arthur soon noticed that the situation went from bad to worse. He had to meet Francis usually at least thrice a week, often even more frequently, and that was too many times already for anyone's good.

There were two kinds of meetings: those that took place in office, and those that Bonnefoy insisted on having in more casual surroundings, like at lunch in restaurants. Arthur hated both types equally.

As a rule, they held their meetings in office only when presence of other workers was necessary. In those cases, the secretaries, accountants, executives, and Bonnefoy and Arthur all gathered in usually too small office rooms to discuss their plans and budgets, problems and ideas. One would think that enduring Bonnefoy would have been easier in company of others, but no such luck. The man stood out of the crowd without seemingly even trying – he always wore well-fitting suits to these meetings, managing to look both businesslike and fucking fabulous in his attire, whereas Arthur, for instance, looked only stiff and ungraceful at best. Naturally, nearly everyone – including even Arthur's boss, and that was something – found Bonnefoy a pleasant person to work with, and he soon had everyone wrapped round his little finger – except for Arthur, of course, because he would never degrade himself like that, he was professional. But it didn't help that the Frenchman distributed his charming smiles in every direction, especially, Arthur had quite indifferently marked, to the prettiest ladies and the handsomest men. Occasionally even to Arthur himself, too.

But the casual meetings were not any better. Then, Bonnefoy would settle for less formal attire, like neat jeans, and one or two top buttons casually, but not yet quite inappropriately, undone on his shirt. He would behave more freely, flirt a bit more openly, sit in a more relaxed position on his chair. He would touch Arthur's elbow or shoulder more often than was strictly necessary, make a waitress blush with his compliments, wink at some good-looking person passing their table or sitting nearby. His behaviour was insufferable, bloody infuriating, and there was nothing that Arthur could do to stop it. And since Bonnefoy obviously didn't care for proper, formal manners, Arthur stopped bothering with them, too. There was no need to waste his gentlemanliness on inappropriate frogs.

"Would you mind quitting harassing other customers and focus on what we have to plan, Bonnefoy?" Arthur finally snapped at his partner when the man sent a discreet but nonetheless dashing smile to someone sitting behind Arthur's back. The Englishman had to fight an urge to turn and see who was the lucky beauty this time, and that he even had such an urge annoyed him even further.

"Relax, Arthur," Bonnefoy laughed blithely, throwing his right arm over the back of his armchair. Yes, armchair. Because apparently it was perfectly acceptable to hold important business meetings in some coffee lounges. "We are not on the clock, my friend, so there's no reason to not enjoy ourselves while we are here."

Arthur kept pointedly skimming through his documents, pretending that there were no sinfully good-looking Frenchmen posing on the chair across to him. "Well, I'm not enjoying myself, so I'd rather go through this day's agenda as swiftly as possible."

"Don't be such a bore, Arthur." Bonnefoy winked at him, and Arthur bristled, wanting nothing more than to wipe that amused smile _off_ his face. "I'm sure you'd enjoy this more if you let yourself relax a little. Anyone claiming that work and fun can't be combined is a fool."

Arthur raised his eyes to the Frenchman and fought to keep his irritated glare at the frog's face instead of the way his rolled-up sleeves presented his strong-looking, just rightly hairy forearms. Arthur had always had a thing for body hair, and damn, why did Bonnefoy have to meet his preferences in just about everything? Wait, no, did he just allow himself to think that? Feeling blood rushing to his cheeks, Arthur quickly lowered his eyes on the documents again. "Work and fun can not be combined as long as fun hinders progression of work," he snapped, continuing flipping through papers in his folder.

He heard Bonnefoy click his tongue disapprovingly, but successfully avoided the mistake of looking at the damned man again. But then he heard rustling and before he knew it, his folder had been snatched off his hands.

"Hey!" he yelped at that and was forced to look up. Bonnefoy had stood up and leant over the table and remnants of their lunch between them, and was now standing with one hand on his hips, the other holding Arthur's folder with an absolutely insufferable smirk on his lips.

"It's high time I take this in my temporary possession," he announced and sat back down on his chair. "You've skimmed through those poor papers so many times now that it's a wonder they haven't completely worn out yet."

Now that Arthur had been robbed of his documents, he had no choice but to look at the man who had taken them. "Bonnefoy," he growled. "Give them back."

" _Non_." That Frenchman had the nerve to smile languidly.

"This is outrageous. Hand me my documents this instant!"

"I will not." Bonnefoy pushed his empty plate aside – the waitress was yet to clean the dishes away – and leant on the table, looking intently at Arthur. "So far we've done what you want. We have attended dull official meetings -"

"Those meetings have not been assigned by me!"

"And we have discussed nothing but our companies' business all through our dyadic little meetings." The Frenchman arched one of his neat eyebrows. "This has been going on for weeks. You've got what you want. Now it's my turn. And I say we relax a little and work on our... chemistry."

"Our chemistry! What are you raving about? We don't have time for nonsense like that!"

Bonnefoy frowned in mild annoyance. "This is where you are wrong," he said, drumming the table with his fingers. Arthur followed the movement with his eyes. "We have plenty of time. But very well. You want to have the best possible results in this merger, don't you?" Not waiting for the Englishman to confirm, he continued. "Well, consider this. The two of us are responsible for this merger, so when our chemistries work well together, the results are considerably better than if they don't. And our chemistry can be improved by taking it easy and getting to know one another better, don't you agree?"

Arthur crossed his arms and glared. No, he most certainly did not agree. Anything concerning Bonnefoy outside business meant trouble, considering how big a problem he was already in solely official situations. But it didn't look like Arthur had any say in the matter.

Bonnefoy seemed to take his sullen silence as a consent. "Good," he said, smiling, and glanced at his watch. "Then I suggest the following: we go and find some pleasant pub, have a drink or two, and generally enjoy ourselves while getting to know one another."

Arthur made a show of sighing heavily to make his reluctance clear. "Fine," he uttered, masking the doubt he was feeling by exasperation; holding his liquor had never been one of his strengths (that, and cooking), so he would have to be extra careful with himself, particularly with this slimy frog around. He followed Bonnefoy's example and stood up to pull his jacket on. "Would you now be so kind as to return my folder to me?"

" _Non_ ," the Frenchman replied calmly. "I'll keep it as long as I perceive necessary. If, at the end of the evening, I consider your effort sufficient, I will give it back to you and we may resume working on the merger. If, however, you will only mope the entire evening, I'll keep your folder until you loosen up a little."

"That's blackmailing!"

"Now, don't be so eager to slap a label on everything. Not a good start, I'd say."

Arthur gritted his teeth, but there was nothing he could do but to dance to the Frenchman's tune for the evening. No one had ever claimed for any leading position to be easy – on the very contrary, in fact. This was just one of the challenges that Arthur would have to overcome in order to prove his responsibility and capability to handle difficult situations. That was why his boss had chosen him to lead the merger, and Arthur would not let him down. And if he would have to resist the charms of a gorgeous Frenchman to succeed, that's what he'd do.

Neither Bonnefoy nor Arthur had arrived by car, so they took a taxi to a pub that somebody had once recommended to the Frenchman. It was a nice place with comfortable seats and good music, fancy enough to be entered wearing a suit yet casual enough for relaxation without worrying about appearances. Bonnefoy and Arthur found a peaceful corner without too many people around, and Arthur made himself comfortable on a cosy sofa while the Frenchman went to fetch them drinks.

"It's on me, as we are here on my suggestion," he had said, not leaving Arthur any room for protests – and really, who was the Englishman to argue? While his partner was away, he formed a quick strategy: keep calm, reveal as little as possible, and, most importantly, _do not get drunk_.

It didn't take the Frenchman long to return with two drinks in his hands. Arthur thanked him, accepting one of the glasses, and watched how Bonnefoy sat down on an armchair beside his sofa so that they could maintain face-to-face contact. They both sipped their drinks, and then Bonnefoy took the reigns.

"So," he began in a conversational manner. "Have you worked long for your company?"

"For almost two years."

"Really? How old are you, if you don't mind me asking? Not more than twenty-five, surely?"

"Twenty-three, if you must know."

The Frenchman raised his glass to Arthur. "Impressive. You must be quite an employee if your boss put you in charge of our merger."

Arthur shrugged, taking another cautious sip. "I focus on what matters and he knows it. I work hard, and I don't waste my time with chatting away or flirting with every person in sight." The last words came out perhaps a little too sharply, and earned Arthur an amused expression from Bonnefoy.

"Curious, I wonder whom you might refer to," he said, arching his eyebrows in a ridiculously elegant manner. "However, I believe you are forgetting something quite important in the world of business: sometimes efficient work is not enough." The Frenchman paused, and even though Arthur knew what he was going to say, he had to ask. "Well, what is it then?"

"Socialising," his partner said and grinned. "And making a pleasant impression on people you work with. As I said earlier, chemistry is important and may affect the business quite crucially."

"Perhaps in some cases," Arthur argued, "but proper and professional behaviour is more important. It's the base of everything, while rubbing shoulders too closely may lead to troubles."

"And what kind of troubles are those, Arthur?"

"Well, for one, letting one's personal feelings, were they friendship or dislike, interfere with business is risky and unstable, and may affect rational thinking with some extremely negative consequences."

"Don't even try to tell me that you are free of any personal feelings when working with people," Bonnefoy snorted. "So, as you can't escape them, why not try and make them as pleasant as possible?"

"There is a limit to how friendly you should get with your associates," Arthur snorted in response and finished his drink. Luckily it hadn't been too strong, so he would be safe even if Bonnefoy insisted on having another one.

"Mm," the Frenchman said, twirling the remains of his own drink in his glass. "Of course there is. It all depends on the person... and the mood. You and me, for example -"

"Did you come here to talk about work?" Arthur cut him off, eager to drop everything that concerned Bonnefoy and him in the same sentence. "Because if you did, we might as well have continued our conversation at the restaurant."

"You are right," the Frenchman agreed. "You are making some progress here, not wanting to talk about work for once."

"I need my folder back," Arthur reminded him.

"Ah, so you do." Then Bonnefoy downed his drink, too, and the two men sat in silence for a minute or two. _Well done, Arthur, you are doing well. Keep it up_ , the Englishman silently congratulated himself.

Now that Bonnefoy didn't have his drink to distract him, he seemed to actively focus all his attention on Arthur, leaning his elbow on the armrest of the sofa, making their arms nearly brush. His eyes surveyed the Englishman, who shivered slightly and felt an urge to shift clos- further! _Further_ from the Frenchman and his cursed, alluring eyes, damn it all!

"Well then." Bonnefoy's eyes twinkled and he dropped the question casually, almost nonchalantly. "Do you have a girlfriend, Arthur?"

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

"Oh. Boyfriend, then? Or are you free?"

"No! I mean -" _Free_? What was that frog implying? Heat was surely radiating from Arthur's cheeks at this point. This sort of conversation was not what Arthur had had in mind when suggesting a change of topic. "Did you already forget what we talked about rubbing shoulders too closely with associates?"

"Too close?" Bonnefoy raised his eyebrows innocently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give a wrong impression. I'm simply curious, I have no ulterior motives."

"That's not what I meant!" the Englishman exclaimed. Fuck, goodbye, serenity. "Don't you think you are going into too personal matters here with those questions?"

Bonnefoy shrugged. "No."

" _Frenchmen_ ," Arthur grumbled.

The Frenchman in question made a vague, somewhat exasperated gesture with his arm. "Oh, please. Relationships between two people are the most natural thing in the world! Only Englishmen would make it a taboo in normal discussion."

"It's not a taboo! It's simply rather intrusive a question to ask someone you don't know."

"We have known for over four weeks already," Bonnefoy marked matter-of-factly. "And if it's not a taboo, why won't you answer me?"

"It's just- Oh, for heaven's sake." Arthur crossed his arms. "No, I'm not in a relationship at the moment. Are you happy now?"

A grin spread on Bonnefoy's lips. "As a matter of fact, I am."

Arthur stood up. "If you are going to keep this up all night, I'm getting myself another drink." Then he paused and, forced by courtesy, added, "Do you want anything?"

"Oh, I'll have the same as you, thank you."

With a drink in his hand Arthur felt better, as now he had something more important to give his attention to than Bonnefoy. For several minutes the two men sat quietly, lost each in their respective thoughts. Arthur wondered how long he would have to suffer before Bonnefoy would be satisfied and return his folder, how long the whole merger process would take at the rate they were progressing, and how long it would take Bonnefoy to realise that buttoning his shirt up to his chin would make the world a better place. The Englishman found answers to none of these questions, but instead he acquired new information about his business partner, who, on Arthur's nonchalant initiative, began telling about his own career.

"Five years, I believe, since I was twenty-one," Bonnefoy was glad to tell when Arthur asked how long he had been in business. "A little bit more. Followed my father's steps, really. I have something else in mind that I'd rather do than this."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I worked in a bakery when I was younger," Bonnefoy said, and his face lit up with a smile – a real smile, not a flirtatious one, Arthur was startled to realise. "I perceive that time as my golden era, where everything was well and life was lovely."

Arthur hummed non-committally and sipped his drink. "What a cliché. Opening a bakery in France."

"France?" Bonnefoy's eyes twinkled. "Actually, I live in England. I moved here almost a year ago to prepare this merger in our branch on this side of the _Manche_."

"Oh, you must mean the Channel," Arthur uttered only a little bit cheekily. "And how did Mrs Bonnefoy like the change of scenery?" he then added indifferently, swirling the drink in his hand.

Bonnefoy lifted one of his brows. "My mother stayed in France, thank you very much," he said deliberately. "My parents are not self-destructive enough to move to England."

Arthur snorted and sipped his drink again, only to find that his glass was emptying at an alarming rate. When had that happened? _No more alcohol after this,_ the Englishman decided firmly.

"Thanks," he said when Bonnefoy returned from the counter with two fresh drinks about an hour later. The Frenchman plopped down beside Arthur on the sofa, but the Englishman didn't really mind, no – Bonnefoy was rather a nice chap, after all, he had bought Arthur at least two drinks already, which was very gracious of him indeed, and the man himself ceased to be so annoying as the evening passed by.

"No problem," the Frenchman replied airily and positioned his body so that he was half-facing the Englishman. There was an amused smile on his face, and Arthur couldn't tear his eyes off it. "So, what were you saying earlier?"

"Yes!" Arthur pointed Bonnefoy with his drink. "What I was saying! Precisely." He took a healthy gulp. "I was saying... I was saying that... what was it... Oh yes!" Another gulp for better memory. "I will win! No matter what you do to stop me, Bonnefoy, I will get this merger right. I'll show everybody! I win!"

Bonnefoy laughed softly into his own glass. "And why, pray tell me, would I want to stop you? We work to achieve the same goal, _non_?"

The more alcohol the Frenchman consumed, the more apparent his disgusting French accent became. Arthur glared at him. "You tell me. But I won't be fooled, Bonnefoy!"

Bonnefoy sighed. "Bonnefoy, Bonnefoy, Bonnefoy. I do have a name, Arthur. I don't prance around calling you Kirkland."

"Which you should!" Arthur snorted snobbishly. "But it's the same for me – Francis or Bonnefoy. A frog is a frog, regardless of the name."

"In which case you should be fine with calling me Francis," Bonnefoy pointed out. "Anyway, I'm intrigued. How am I trying to stop you or fool you?"

Arthur sighed, as if he was explaining something to a child. "Look, Francis – see? I said Francis, didn't I, so I win again – so look. You do this. The cafés and the restaurants and the bars and stealing folders. And then – you flirt!"

Arthur managed to utter the last statement in such a scandalised manner that the Frenchman laughed out loud. "Do I?"

"You do," Arthur nodded seriously. "Flirt. And leave your shirts unbuttoned – and – and you show off!"

At this, Francis didn't bother even trying to mask his laughter. He laughed so that his eyes filled with tears and he nearly doubled over. "Dear oh dear! I have been exposed."

"Yes. As you can see, nothing escapes me. You can't fool me." Indeed, Arthur was extremely pleased with himself for unwrapping the Frenchman's schemes so cleverly.

"So," Francis said and leant in, invading Arthur's personal space in quite a rude manner. "So, you have been watching me, haven't you, Arthur?"

"Indeed I have!" Bonnefoy smirked at this and Arthur realised with mortification that he, Arthur Kirkland, was flushing. "T-to reveal your tricks, obviously!"

"Obviously," Francis purred.

"So, don't even think of ruining this for me by seducing my imbecilic co-workers!"

Again, Arthur's words earned him a raised eyebrow. "And how would it ruin anything if I offered my love to one of these 'imbeciles'?"

Arthur leant towards the Frenchman, forgetting the shit about personal space, and tuned his voice down, as if he was about to reveal a big secret. "I've seen it. At my previous workplace, and in this company, too." He lowered his voice to a whisper. " _Affairs_. Within the company." He shuddered. "It always leads to disaster. Either work ruins the relationship, or the relationship ruins work. And when the break-up comes..." Arthur sat up right again and, sipping his drink, continued in a normal, narrating voice. "Boom! Fights. War between associates. Eventually, someone has to go." He shook his head condescendingly. "So don't blow this up, Francis. We need every person we have in the office."

Francis was snickering all through Arthur's lecture. "Oh, I see," he answered, attempting solemnity in his voice and failing. "I get it. No romances between associates."

"Very good," Arthur nodded, satisfied.

"So, if I do this..." Francis sat a bit closer so that their thighs were brushing. "Am I crossing the line?"

Arthur paused for a serious thought. "Hmm... Not necessarily, depends on the circumstances. In crowded space..."

"And this..." Francis draped his arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Am I crossing the line now?"

Arthur's cheeks tingled lightly and he made a point of maintaining his stoic indifference. "Definitely! This is a clear foul."

"And this...?" All of the sudden there were fingers running up the Englishman's thigh, and Arthur had to struggle to swallow his frantic heart from his throat back to where it belonged. _Push him away!_ his mind screamed at him but he couldn't quite get his body moving.

"Absolutely!" he exclaimed instead, trying his best – he really did – not to enjoy the firm arm around his shoulders, the lean body pressed to his, the sneaky hand playing on his thigh – stomach – chest...

"And if I...?" Francis whispered huskily and leant forward, as if for a kiss.

"Y-yes, yes, without question." _Come on now, Arthur, don't you fall in his trap, for the sake of all that's holy, don't - !_ Breath in, breath out, steady, cool – go!"I'm glad to see you have understood what you mustn't do," Arthur managed quite professionally. "Now get off."

Francis looked at him and thoughtfully drummed his fingers on Arthur's thigh. "Hm. So as long as I behave discreetly, it's fine?"

"Er, yes? We could say so, I suppose."

Francis withdrew, winked and flashed Arthur a smile. " _Bon_. I'll keep all this in mind."

"Excellent." Arthur straightened his tie and wished he had another drink to help him pull through the night, but then he remembered that he still hadn't finished the drink at hand and smiled.

"But Arthur, you and me, we are not exactly co-workers, are we?"

Arthur very nearly spat his mouthful of alcohol at Francis. "We most certainly _are_!" he spluttered, scandalised. "So behave yourself in my company, you, you frog!"

Francis pouted. "I do behave, but you keep ignoring me all the same!"

"That's because you are stupid."

"At this rate, you'll never get your folder back."

Arthur snorted into his drink that he had found again. "No matter. I have the copies saved on my computer, anyway."

At this, Francis' eyes lightened up in a new way and Arthur got an ominous feeling that he had revealed something he certainly shouldn't have, but his mind was hazy and he couldn't quite grasp what it was.

"I see," Francis purred and leant back on the sofa.

"Time to go," Arthur decided, threw the remains of his drink down his throat and stood up in an admirably determined way, though his slight swaying did ruin some of the impression.

Francis stood up as well. "Let's take a taxi."

"You take a taxi of your own," Arthur snorted. "I'm going home."

"So am I. We can share the ride, silly."

Arthur hesitated; he didn't trust the Frenchman, no, he didn't, but then Francis pulled out the winning card.

"I will pay for the ride, of course."

Well then. In that case.

xXx

"Oi, watch it!"

Arthur ignored the yelp as he made his way past people in the corridor – rudeness very unlike him, yes, as he _was_ a gentleman, but there were certain situations in life that left no room for gentlemanliness. Exceptions to break the rule, so to speak. And that morning was certainly one of those moments that called for extreme harshness and determination.

Arthur Kirkland was going to meet Francis fucking _Bonnefoy_. No, more accurately: he was going to _kill_ the man, because what he had done the previous night was absolutely enraging and beyond all propriety. Shame turned Arthur's ears scarlet as soon as he even thought of it; he himself was not entirely without blame, either. He had known from the start what even one too many drinks would do to him, yet somehow he had let himself slip. But Bonnefoy, the git, held the greatest blame as he had exploited Arthur's weakness so shamelessly.

Francis was in the middle of his morning coffee when the door of his temporary office very nearly flew of its hinges, so forcefully did Arthur throw it open.

"Ah, good morning, Arthur. What a theatrical entrance."

Arthur didn't even blink, didn't let the Frenchman's light smile and relaxed posture and those twinkling eyes distract him. "My folder, Bonnefoy," he all but growled.

Francis sighed dramatically. "And here I thought we were on the first-name terms."

"My. Folder _._ "

Francis regarded him for a moment, calmly sipping his coffee. "I must admit you make quite an impressive sight, standing there at my door like a terminator," he said. "Why wouldn't you close the door so we could discuss this without audience."

"There is nothing to discuss," Arthur hissed, but slammed the door shut nevertheless, continuing, "Now, if you please, hand me my folder this bloody fucking instant."

"Why so furious, Arthur?" Francis asked, starting to look honestly quizzical and a little annoyed. He put down his coffee and reached for his suitcase.

"You were supposed to return it already yesterday," Arthur uttered after hesitating just a bit.

"I promised no such thing," Francis argued, pulling Arthur's folder out of his suitcase. "I said I'd give it back as soon as you learn to relax. Which," the Frenchman added pointedly, "isn't apparently quite yet." He outstretched his hand with the folder toward Arthur. "Besides, I didn't hear you demanding it back last night."

Ears colouring, Arthur snatched his precious folder from Francis' hand. "Which is just another reason to be mad at you!" he uttered. "You exploited my weakness!"

Bonnefoy sat a little straighter in his chair and sent Arthur a cold look. "I will have you know that I do not descend so low as to get people drunk on purpose. I wasn't aware of your low tolerance, unlike you yourself must have been. Doesn't speak well of your responsibility, to drink even when you know how little alcohol you can take."

Now Arthur's whole face was positively aflame. "You – you – frog!" he spat out, but couldn't really deny the Frenchman's words when he put them like that. Damn that man, damn him to the deepest hell!

"Now, there's no need to look so aghast," Francis chuckled on seeing his partner's face. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Or on me, for that matter. Admit instead that you did enjoy yourself yesterday."

"Dream on."

"Must I find a new way then to force you to go out with me?" Bonnefoy asked, rolling his eyes, and Arthur spluttered in shock. Out with him? Was the frog crazy?

"No!"

"Oh, so you'll come willingly, then?" There was no mistake of that teasing tone.

Arthur had to bite his tongue not to let the wrong answer to slip out. "No! I meant – out with you? That is out of the question!"

"Oh!" Francis laughed heartily. "I didn't mean it as a date, Arthur dear." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "And here I thought that you would never want to date an associate."

If asked, Arthur would have named that to be the perfect moment for the building to crumble and cover him in ruins. And having Francis smashed by stones wouldn't hurt, either (at least it wouldn't hurt Arthur), but that would probably be too much asked – Arthur rarely had any luck with his wishes. "I wouldn't, you imbecile!" he uttered, horrified at the possibility of Francis believing him interested. "Work on your English, if you don't understand normal speech!"

"Are you offering to teach me?"

Arthur turned on his heels and left the office.

xXx

And so Arthur was forced to live through the most trying month he had ever had to endure in his life, Francis Bonnefoy acting as his personal tormentor. The Frenchman sure did his best to add flames to Arthur's hell in every possible way: little lingering touches on Arthur's back or arms or shoulders – but nowhere inappropriate; flashes of skin beneath his clothing – neck, chest, and arms, but not indecently; and, worst of all, light flirting, glances and smiles – but not with Arthur. The most frustrating part of it all was that those little things that kept driving Arthur deeper and deeper into madness were all casual, effortless, and seemingly unintentional. If Bonnefoy put any thought in tormenting Arthur like that, it didn't show; the Frenchman was apparently just being himself.

Then. Then there was the actual worst part of it all: Arthur was beginning to see a difference between professional Francis and the real Francis; the difference was small, but undeniable nonetheless. It occurred in the way Bonnefoy turned up his nose in light drizzle, or in the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled. Really, Arthur could do without those little details. The more he saw of real Francis, the more he began not only wanting _Francis_ , but also wanting to be _with_ Francis. And that, that was unacceptable. Arthur didn't want this, didn't need this, _this_ , whatever it was. Because he didn't need any more reasons to want this man, thank you very much, and affairs between associates never worked out, and fuck, he wasn't deep enough yet to think of having an affair with Bonnefoy, no, he was just, he just... he was screwed, that's what he was.

Those were the thoughts that occupied Arthur's troubled mind as he walked with Bonnefoy to their office building. They hadn't held their dyadic meeting at a restaurant this time, although that had been their intention at first. However, the weather had proven to be exceptionally nice that day, fresh crispiness of late autumn yet with a sprinkle of sun, so they had ended up strolling in Green Park instead, talking about football and Gordon Ramsay and Alaska while idly following the paths. It was pleasant, spending time with Francis like that, pleasant in a masochistic sort of way. It was too easy to let the imagination run wild, painting sceneries that did not involve work, but an entirely different connection between Francis and Arthur, and fuck, did Arthur really have to think of that now, when in the company of the root of all his troubles?

"Uh-oh," Francis said.

Arthur was shaken from his thoughts at the Frenchman's tone. "What?"

Francis nodded his head forward. "There comes someone I certainly would like to avoid right now."

"Who?"

"See the cringing lady in the pink coat? Her. Quick, let's hide in an alley!"

The problem was, there were no alleys on the street they were walking on – they were crossing the river Thames and were in the middle of the bridge, so there were no escape unless Francis was desperate enough to jump off the bridge. On a second thought, that would solve Arthur's problem in one splash, and he was just about to encourage Bonnefoy do it, when Francis gave a victorious sound.

"Wha-"

Arthur didn't have time to inquire what this brilliant idea of Francis' was, because the Frenchman grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the railing of the bridge, hands on each side of the Englishman.

"Bonnefoy! The hell are you doing?"

Francis hushed and grabbed the sides of his head, bringing his face all to fucking close. "Play along, Arthur! If she sees that we're kissing, she'll leave us be even if she recognised me!"

"We are not kissing!"

" _Pretend_ that we are!"

"This is outrageous -"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Arthur! Put your hands on my shoulders and show some effort!"

Francis got his will through; Arthur indeed did put his hands on his shoulders, but only because Francis, without the smallest warning, unceremoniously leant in and kissed him.

Or tried to – Arthur stood still as a rock, shocked into stillness. Francis groaned against his lips in frustration. "No one will buy your act, idiot! I feel like I'm licking a lamp-post in winter!"

"You sodding son of a -"

"Francis Bonnefoy? Is that you?"

Francis shot Arthur an accusing look, and the Englishman would have found it exceedingly funny, had he not felt mortified to the core. Reluctantly, Francis turned around to face the middle-aged woman.

"Charlotte! What a surprise," he easily faked. "Charlotte, this is Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, this is Charlotte Corday, my _previous_ secretary." The pointed look Francis gave to Arthur with the introduction offered an inkling as to why exactly he wasn't enthusiastic to talk with her.

He didn't have to cope with her for long, though; after a few shallow pleasantries Charlotte Corday departed from their company, allowing Arthur to openly turn his fury at the Frenchman.

"What the hell was that little stunt of yours about?"

Francis smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. As I said, I really didn't want to meet her – she always looks at me like she'd like to stab me to death. She still holds a grudge against me for firing her half a year ago."

"That doesn't allow you to assault me in public like that!"

"What about in private, then?"

"Have you no decency, man? Besides, your stupid plan didn't even work!"

"That's because you didn't play along! No one would've mistaken that for a kiss! She probably thought we were trying to strangle one another."

"I certainly would like to strangle you," Arthur barked, red and ashamed and not. At all. Missing the pressure of Francis' body and the edgy railing of the bridge.

"I apologise, I admit I was a little tactless." Francis gave a cough. "Shall we go on? I'm taking Jeanne for coffee, and we've wasted enough time here."

Francis' words miffed Arthur. He knew Jeanne, the Frenchman's new secretary. She was young and pretty and funny, and suddenly Arthur felt a jab of what definitely wasn't jealousy. "No wonder you fired Charlotte Corday," he blurted venomously nonetheless, before he could stop himself.

Francis had the gall to laugh. "I didn't fire her for looks, Arthur dear. Though I can't say that Jeanne has made me regret that decision."

"Let's hurry then, before we waste more time," Arthur grunted. His mood had considerably soured, and he mentally berated himself for letting something as trifling as not-jealousy dictate his spirits. So what if Francis indirectly called him waste of time? And there certainly had not been a moment when Arthur would have been delusional enough to imagine being the only one whom Francis took our for cafés.

 _Let this end,_ he groaned inwardly. _Let this merger business end so that I will never have to see him on daily basis any more!_

Only later that day, when Arthur was in the middle of sorting files in his office, did his thought return to what had happened on the bridge. Oh, fuck. Francis had kissed him. It had been to avoid a person, but still, Francis had kissed him, and what had been his verdict? That Arthur kissed like a frozen lamp-post! Embarrassment engulfed Arthur again and he dropped his head on his desk in mental agony. Ffffuuuuuck. Arthur had been taken aback on the bridge, but he was, in fact, a remarkably good kisser. Yet Francis had no way of knowing that, and now he would prance around thinking that Arthur was some untouched, clumsy beginner.

"Death, if you hear me, feel free to take my soul now," he muttered.

Death didn't. Not that Arthur had been expecting it to – everything in the universe was against him, no news in that. "Lazy bastard," Arthur threw the accusation in the air and returned to sorting the files.

xXx

It was a sunny afternoon, one of those that seemed to never end.

"So you agree about rescheduling the meeting of next Tuesday? Do you have a preferred time? I'm fine with anything after noon." Apparently Miss Kollontai was the only one in the building who didn't care that it was seven minutes to four o'clock and that the day was about to end. She looked at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur spared her a quick glance before his eyes inevitably shifted back to Bonnefoy, who was talking to his secretary on the other side of the hall. "Yes," he said. "I..." What was Bonnefoy even doing there, anyway? Had he not a meeting with Arthur's boss until four? Evidently not. Or perhaps they had been efficient and finished early, or then Arthur's boss had postponed the entire meeting, because now the Frenchman looked busy enough chatting to Jeanne. He certainly had no value of personal space, Arthur noted as Francis touched her arm and laughed at something she had said. So, so typical of him.

"Mr Kirkland?"

"Huh? Oh! Pardon me, I... yes, er, yes, I agree that the meeting should be rescheduled. How about, er, two o'clock?"

"Suits me just fine. See you on Monday then. Oh, and I'll probably drop by your office before I leave, to return the copies you gave me."

"Sure."

Well, at least the day was about to end. And not just that: the blessed weekend would begin, and after that, the one last fortnight of the company merger was to kick off. Everything had gone smoothly, more or less, which was not at all redundant.

But they hadn't reached the end yet, and the weekend was still four minutes away, too. To spend the time wisely, Arthur trudged to his office in order to retrieve his briefcase and jacket.

Two minutes to four, the door was suddenly opened, and Arthur's boss marched in with Francis in tow. "Kirkland!" he bellowed for a greeting, as if expecting Arthur to be overjoyed with seeing him at that time of day.

"Mr Harris."

"There was this one thing I forgot to inform you about," the large man said. "Good thing I ran into Bonnefoy, he reminded me of it."

Francis cringed apologetically behind Harris' back when Arthur turned to glare at him.

"You don't have to do it today," the boss laughed in his barking manner. "But it's good you know of it. I'd like you two to prepare a presentation for next Thursday on this merger. Please include all the numbers, and pay attention to elaborating the budgets. And by the way – congratulations. I knew you were the man for this, Kirkland, and even Bonnefoy wasn't that bad for a Frenchman."

Francis rolled his eyes when Harris couldn't see him, and Arthur smirked. "Thank you, Sir," he said.

"I'll leave you to it then. Enjoy your weekend."

"Well," Francis said when Arthur's boss had gone and closed the door behind himself. "What a pleasant man your boss is. And please note that by pleasant I mean a crude philistine who puffs like a locomotive when he wades through the corridors."

"Can't argue with that," Arthur agreed and pulled on his jacket.

"Well." Francis walked around Arthur's desk and extended his hand. "Since your boss saw fit congratulating us already now, I shall do the same. It's been a pleasure working with you on this, Arthur."

"Mh. Likewise." Reluctantly Arthur shook the hand, but when he made to withdraw, Bonnefoy didn't let him.

"I fact," the Frenchman continued, "I enjoyed it to the point where I'd like our... cooperation not to end."

Francis' proximity was beginning to make Arthur's palms sweat, which was particularly awkward when Francis could probably feel it. "What's with you? We aren't even finished with this entire merger. And from what I've gathered, we all have our positions secured on each side, anyway."

Francis heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll put this bluntly for your sake, Arthur, since you evidently can't take the hint. I'd like to continue seeing you. Outside work." He leant slightly in, eyes fixed on Arthur's, a smile tugging on his lips. "In most unprofessional circumstances."

"What?" Arthur's heart jumped up to his throat, turning his response into incoherent splutter. He swallowed hard to regain the ability of speech, and this time he managed to yank his hand free from Bonnefoy's grip. "You -! T-this is highly improper behaviour, Bonnefoy!"

"That's the point, didn't I say so? I'm done with being proper with you. Besides, it's past your working hours, anyway, so at this point we have no obligations to act 'proper'."

"That doesn't -! Don't you remember what I've told about affairs between associates? And since when were you even interested?"

Francis shrugged. "I can't name the exact moment, but it didn't take too long, I assure you." He chuckled. "Not with your witty retorts and murderous glares and those little moments when your so-called gentlemanly shell fell off."

Arthur crossed his arms, unsure if Francis was serious or simply mocking him. "That's certainly not what it looked like," he retorted, remembering Jeanne and his other work mates who got the best part of Francis' smiles. "You went all Prince Charming on every bloody person in the office!"

"Were you jealous?"

"No!"

Francis tilted his head, and Arthur had to fight to keep his eyes off his gracefully exposed neck. "Am I to understand then that you take no interest in me?" Bonnefoy asked, but now he sounded like he was actually serious. Arthur felt a drop of sweat sliding down his temple. "No. I-I mean yes, that is, actually... Oh, fuck you, Francis!"

Francis scrutinised him, hands on his hips. "You certainly aren't making this easy, Arthur, are you aware? And all the effort I put into you!"

"What do you mean, all the effort?"

"If you will tell me that you haven't noticed anything, I'm going to give up on my hope of you being a human-being of any intelligence."

"What, so you were purposefully trying to, to," Arthur gritted his teeth and hoped to God that his face wasn't as red as it felt like, "to entice me?"

"Did it work?"

" _What?_ "

Francis inched closer, almost flush against Arthur, eyes dark and demanding. "Did it work?"

Arthur thought about the past months and what he had been forced to endure. He thought about seemingly innocent touches on his shoulders, elbows, the small of his back; the strategically yet subtly exposed skin; the casual flirt with just about every other person in the building; and, lastly, the bloody fucking kiss. All that with the sole purpose to drive Arthur out of his mind.

Arthur's hands moved before Francis even noticed, grabbing the Frenchman's collar and yanking hard, so that their faces nearly collided. "You sodding fucker," he growled. "You have the audacity to ask that, Bonnefoy? For two months you kept torturing me in your disgustingly charming ways, for two. Months. You _knew_ what you were doing to me, didn't you, all this time, and now you have the gall to voice that question?"

"Was that a yes or no, Arthur?" Francis asked. "I now understand that you might be too dense to realise it, but you've kept me quite on the edge for these past months with your mixed messages, too. So give me a straight answer now, and according to it I'll either walk away or kiss you breathless."

At these words Arthur's patience, which had already been stretched to its thinnest during the past weeks, finally snapped in two. He crashed his mouth on Francis' with perhaps more vigour than necessary, but fuck, he had been waiting for it far too long.

"It's a yes then?" Francis breathed out when they separated from one another.

"Evidently," Arthur retorted, still clutching at Francis' shirt, dizzy and breathless, and leant in again, but halted just before his lips touched Francis'. "But I still don't do affairs between associates."

"Is us being associates your only objection?"

"That, and you being an idiot, yes."

"Mm. But Arthur, didn't you know?" A self-satisfied grin replaced Francis' previously dreamy smile. "I am to resign once this merger is complete. Three months ago I was offered an important position in a catering company here in London, and I accepted." His eyes twinkled. "So, I regret to inform you that after a fortnight we cease to be associates."

"Francis, you are -" Arthur shook his head. "What I do know is that I should drown you in Thames while I still can."

Francis put his palm on the nape of Arthur's neck and pulled him close again. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me..."

However, there was very little watching after that, but plenty of touching to make up for it, and Arthur lost himself entirely in Francis' arms. The hungry kisses made his head spin, and when Francis brought his hand to Arthur's crotch, white stars filled his vision entirely.

Through this bliss a distantly alarming sound broke into Arthur's consciousness: a click of his door handle. When his mind caught up with the sound, his eyes shot to the door to see his boss in the doorway, gawking at the scene of ruffled hair and dishevelled clothing and partly unzipped trousers.

For a moment or two everyone stood frozen solid in the room, but then Arthur gained control of his mouth again. "I-I can explain," he began, but continued no further, because, on a second thought, he really had no plausible explanation to why he was clutching Francis' tie, fingers tangled in his hair, or what business Francis' hand could possibly have under Arthur's partly unbuttoned shirt.

Harris shook his head, as if to shake the image off his eyes. "Well, Kirkland," he said, glancing at his watch. "I can't say I saw this coming, but what you do outside your working hours is of no concern to me." He politely nodded to Francis. "Bonnefoy. I'll see you two next week then."

"Ffffffuck," Arthur groaned and buried his burning face in Francis' shirt. "I take my earlier words back; I'll drown _myself_ in Thames after all."

"Did he lock the door?"

Arthur sent a dark glare at Francis. "Does it matter?"

The Frenchman answered with a grin, sliding his forefinger up Arthur's side rib by rib. "No, not really. I'm simply astonished to find you agreeing with me."

"And I'm astonished that you're still talking. No one's mad enough to stay in this building after four o'clock on a Friday afternoon, so quit talking and finish what you started!"

For once things seemed to go Arthur's way; Francis wasted no more time on useless words and instead occupied his mouth with more pressing matters.

In another office, on the other end of the corridor, Miss Kollontai, arms full of folders, entered her boss' office to find him rubbing his temples with both hands. "Sir? Are you all right?"

Harris shook his head. "I have seen unfathomable things, Kollontai." He rose from his seat, grabbed his coat and pulled it on. "It's past time I take my leave. And if you tell me that those folders need my attention now, I'm firing you."

"They are for the next week, have no fear. Where shall I put them?"

"Wherever. Lock the door after yourself, and I suggest that you leave immediately after. Cheers."

"I will, I will," Miss Kollontai assured the closing door, and turned to the desk to sort the folders into two piles. "I'll just drop Mr Kirkland's copies at his office first."

X

 _An additional note: The line about kissing a lamp-post does not belong to me – I borrowed it from a Bioware video game. Charlotte Corday and Alexandra Kollontai are historical figures, I have no idea why I borrowed their names into a story like this, especially the latter one. Jeanne is an obvious one, though she is a bit overused a character for jealousy purposes. What can I say? I'm glad I finally get this fic off my to-do list! I hope you were entertained._


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